


Panopticon

by oneiriad



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Future Coldflashwave, M/M, Pre-Slash, Prison, WIP
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-27
Updated: 2017-03-19
Packaged: 2018-08-18 05:08:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8150153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneiriad/pseuds/oneiriad
Summary: Barry loses his powers and what’s worse - ends up in Iron Heights for something he didn’t do.
What’s worse still, though, is who else is in Iron Heights at that point? Why, none other than Leonard Snart and Mick Rory, freshly incarcerated after the Flash caught them just a few days before losing his powers - and since they’re not actually metas, they are in the normal prison wing, not the meta wing.
As is Barry.





	1. Chapter 1

They transfer him to Iron Heights in the afternoon.

Barry’s grateful that he got to spend what was left of the night in the cell at the precinct. Sure, it was embarrassing - well, worse than embarrassing - to be locked up surrounded by friends and colleagues, but at least he’d been surrounded by friends and colleagues.

Even though those colleagues had looked less than impressed with his lack of a decent explanation - but hey, it’s not like he could just tell them: “See, the thing is - I’m actually the Flash and the real murderer is a metahuman who did something to take away my powers and left me covered in the blood of her victim, so of course the housewife taking out the trash thought I’d done it.”

At least he hadn’t been in costume.

Joe had promised that he’d - that they’d be doing everything they could to find the meta and find some way to get Barry’s speed back, but in the meantime, well - the judge had refused to let him be bailed out. Something about not being soft on cops killing civilians in the current political climate, which - totally fair, except he hadn’t done it, but of course, that’s what they all said.

They put him in the same cell block his Dad used to be in.

They put him in the same sort of clothes his Dad used to wear.

They don’t put him in the same cell his Dad had been living in for years - it’s three cells down from it, and apparently he’s going to be sharing it with a big, unpleasant-looking man with swastika tattoos, who looks at Barry in a way that makes him really, really wish he hadn’t been having an Oz marathon with Iris last weekend and who tells the guard that he’s _really_ looking forward to having Allen as a cellmate, he’s going to show him _all_ the ropes.

He spends the rest of the afternoon doing his level best to stay far away from everyone and within sight of at least one guard at all times, worrying about what will happen if any of the convicts recognize the CSI who worked their case and testified at their trial.

The sound of a bell has the convicts moving towards the cafeteria even before the guards start telling them to get a move on. Barry dutifully follows the stream and gets in line. Gets a tray filled with something that might have been chili con carne in another life, some surprisingly nice-smelling cornbread and a cup of pineapple pudding.

Most of the tables are small and round and with four chairs bolted to the floor in a circle around them. He sits down at one nobody’s claimed yet, hoping nobody will bother him. Judging by how some of those guys are looking in his direction, pointing and grinning and moving towards him, he doesn’t have any luck on that front.

He doesn’t see them before they are slamming their own trays down on the table, settling down on either side of him and tucking into their meals without sparing him more than a glance.

Oh. With everything else that’s happened, he’d completely forgotten that they’d be here as well. Which is pretty stupid of him, really, since he’s the one who put them here not even a week ago.

Oh, he is so, so screwed, isn’t he?

But apparently neither of them are interested in talking right now, and it’s not like he can get up and find a different seat right now without drawing the attention of the entire cafeteria. So he picks up his plastic fork and tastes his dinner.

It’s not horrible. Mostly, it’s bland. The bread’s good, though, and he’s beginning to consider trying his dessert…

…when Mick Rory reaches over and takes his pudding.

“Hey!”

At least he manages to keep it down, even if he can’t stop himself from protesting.

“Mick!”

“Awww, Lenny. He got the pineapple. Here! He can have mine instead.”

And then there’s a cup of strawberry pudding on Barry’s tray.

“We good, Scarlet?”

“Uhm. Yes. Absolutely. Peachy.” 

Snart just smirks at him before turning back to his own tray, which for some reason looks different from what Barry and Mick’s gotten.

“It’s the kosher meal,” Rory rumbles, licking his spoon and glancing speculatively at Barry’s strawberry pudding, making Barry start eating it in self-defence. “Lenny gets the good stuff.”

“If you two can stop arguing about food and finish up,” Snart says with a glare. “I want to have a nice, private chat with Scarlet here before it’s time to go back to the cells, and that means beating the after-dinner yoga class to the smaller fitness room.”

“Why the smaller fitness room?” Barry dares to ask.

“The camera’s broken. Now, eat up.”

Barry eats and afterwards, telling himself he really shouldn’t, but unable to come up with a convincing excuse not to, he follows Snart and Rory to a room with stacks of mats and chairs along the wall.

“So, Scarlet - what brings you to this side of the bars?”

“None of your business.”

“Very interesting,” Snart nods, carrying on as if Barry had actually answered him. “And how will that undercover assignment go if someone made a point of spreading a few inconvenient facts about you?”

“I’m not undercover.”

“Sure you’re not,” Rory grins. “They dump the baby-faced badges in gen pop all the time.”

“I’m really not. I got set up. They really think I killed somebody.”

“Even so,” and Snart tilts his head a bit, “I’m sure you’d rather avoid the extra attention - and I’m sure you could help us with a few, small things the prison commissary doesn’t sell…”

“I can’t.”

“Sure you can, Scarlet. Last I heard, you could run through walls - and the guards don’t do that many rounds at night. Plenty of time for you to just speed off and…”

“You don’t get it, Snart, I can’t. I,” and oh, he really wishes he didn’t have to tell them this, but if he doesn’t, he’s pretty sure Snart will just keep on trying to blackmail him. Not that he expects telling them will actually stop the blackmail, just maybe make it a bit more - realistic? “I really, really can’t. The metahuman who set me up, she - did something to my powers.”

“Did what, exactly?”

“I think she ate them,” he admits. Snart’s lips twist into a distasteful moue, which - yeah, Barry’s definitely agreeing with that, and Snart wasn’t even there to see how she did it.

Then Snart narrows his eyes, looks at Rory and then…

… Rory is slamming into Barry, grabbing him by the collar and forcing him up against the wall, knocking the breath from his lungs. He twists, scrabbling in vain trying to get free and then freezes when something small and sharp is pressed against his throat.

Please, don’t let this be the way it ends. Please.

Fingers close around his wrist, tugging his hand away from the death grip he’s got on Rory’s sleeve. Barry doesn’t dare to move his head even a little, just tries to follow what Snart’s up to out of the corner of his eye.

It’s funny, but the man just seems to be holding Barry’s wrist, almost as if he’s checking his pulse, or - or trying to feel the slightest bit of vibration on Barry’s skin, he realizes, eyes widening.

Because of course Snart would be clever enough to realize that if Barry was lying and still had his powers, then he wouldn’t be able to completely suppress them, and certainly not when he’s about to be shanked to death.

Apparently Snart decides that Barry’s telling the truth, because suddenly both he and Rory release their grips on him. That same moment, Barry’s legs decide to stop supporting him, and he slides down the wall and just sort of curls up on the floor, because why not? It’s not like this day can get any worse, can it?

Except it’s probably going to be as soon as the cell door locks behind him tonight.

“Ate them?” Snart asks, kneeling down in front of Barry.

“Yeah,” Barry confirms, not looking at Snart until the man reaches out and forces him to lift his chin.

“Who’s your cellie, Barry?”

“His name’s Armbruster or something like that. I think he’s…”

“Brotherhood,” Snart finishes for him, frowning. “Mick? I need you to get rid of that thing and then go sweet talk one of the guards. Tell them we’re having a spat.”

Rory hesitates.

“I’m not going to let you bunk with that asshole. Those White Pride pricks have been looking for an opportunity to shank your ass for ages.”

“Half the jail’s been looking for opportunities to shank the other half for ages, Mick. Besides, it doesn’t matter which one of us moves, and it’ll just be for a night or two. Now go. Try Gustafson - he’s a soft touch and I hear his son just got married to his boyfriend.”

Mick finally leaves with a glare in Barry’s direction, muttering about “so much for getting laid tonight” and slamming the door open, almost hitting the yoga teacher who was about to open the door from the other side in the face.

“On your feet,” and Snart tugs at him until he obeys. “Let’s go watch the news ‘till Mick gets back.”

“Why are you doing this?” he asks as he follows.

“I figure this,” and Snart’s gesture seems to be trying to encompass this entire fucked up sitation, “is a temporary setback for you - and when you get back on your feet, you’ll owe me one. Again.”

“Oh,” and Barry follows, sits down next to him in one of the chairs in front of the television. All around them men are wearing headphones.

“So, what happens when they move Mick back?”

“It’s a bit late in the day to make any permanent arrangements,” Snart answers, reaching for the pair of headphones attached to his chair. “But I figure tomorrow we’ll go and have a chat with Sal, see if he’s interested in a new cellie.”

“Who’s Sal?” though there’s something about the name that almost feels familiar, as if he really should know who Snart’s talking about.

“Salvatore Rizzuto. He used to be a Family hitman in Gotham back in the 70s, before he got life. I hear they moved him to Iron Heights about seven years ago, put him in a cell with a fellow going by Doc Allen for most of those. I figure he’ll be willing to do his old cellie’s son a good turn, yeah?”


	2. Chapter 2

The noise of the horn almost drowns out the sound of the cell door locking behind him.

Almost.

Snart doesn’t even spare him a glance, just hoists himself up onto the top bunk, ignoring the wolf whistles and shouts - “Hey, Snart - getting a litle something on the side? What’ll the hubby say?!” - from the other inmates.

“The bottom’s all yours,” he states. “They turn the lights off in about half an hour. You’ll want to have finished brushing your teeth by then.” Then he digs out a book and lies back to read, ignoring Barry.

Barry sinks down on his bed, the tension he’s been feeling since stepping inside Iron Heights fading - not completely, but still. It’s better than nothing.

“Hey, Allen!” There’s a guard standing outside their cell, running his baton across the bars. “You’ve got a visitor! Stick your hands out, so I can cuff you!”

“Must be some visitor to get in just before lights out,” Snart drawls, turning a page in his book.

“You just stay right up there, Snart!” The guard points his baton in Snart’s direction before radioing an “Okay, open!” to someone. There’s a buzz and the cell door slides open.

As he’s lead away, Barry glances back over his shoulder and sees Snart staring after him, frowning.

They lead him to a small room with a table and two chairs and they chain him to the table. Then they let Joe in.

“Hey. No touching! Dammit, West, you know the rules!” the guard in the corner grumbles, not actually making a move to separate them.

“Sorry,” Joe says, reluctantly letting go of Barry and sitting down across from him.

“I came as soon as they’d let me, Bear. I had to call in a few favours - they don’t usually allow visits on the first day. Are you alright?”

“Yeah, Joe, I’m okay. A little shook up, that’s all.”

“That’s good, that’s good,” Joe’s nodding. “That damn judge. She could at least have allowed us to transfer you to a jail where you didn’t risk running into people you’d helped make cases against. I’ve requisitioned the records, but you’ll tell me if you’ve seen anybody who might tell the rest of the prisoners that you’re CSI, right?”

“I’m pretty sure the television news did that already,” Barry answers, flinching at the memory - men turning to look at him before turning back when faced with Snart’s and Rory’s scowls. Speaking of which…

“Snart and Rory’s in here.”

“I thought they’d gone to the meta wing?” Joe looks startled. “Don’t worry, son - I’ll have a quick word with the warden before heading home. Those two won’t cause you any trouble in Isolation.”

“No!”

“Bear?”

“Just - they’re not bothering me, they…Snart’s my cellmate.”

“Barry, what aren’t you telling me?” and Joe’s frowning. “Are they threatening you?”

“No, they’re just - Snart figured out I can’t - you know. He’s - I dunno,” and Barry shrugs, looking for something to say that’ll make Snart and Rory’s behaviour make sense. “I’m a CSI in gen pop and he seems to think I’ll owe him a favour if he keeps an eye on me.”

“Barry, you can’t trust those two,” and Joe leans closer, lowering his voice. “Remember what happened last time? Remember that mess at Ferris Air!”

“I remember. I know, Joe! But at least I know them, okay? Just - trust that I know what I’m doing?” he asks, though frankly, he’s far from sure of that himself.

“Okay. Okay, son. But the first sign of trouble, I want you to promise me you’ll talk to the guards, understood?”

“Yes, Joe,” Barry lies. “Now, what’s happening? Have you found the woman who stole my - stole my sneakers? Or has Cisco figured out how to make a new pair?”

“Not yet, but we’re looking - and Cisco’s got a bunch of theories,” Joe offers. “In the meantime, I want you to focus on your case. You don’t need to worry about the rest. We’ll handle that this time. Your new lawyer will be by tomorrow - he seems very optimistic about your chances.”

“But I already have a lawyer?”

“His name’s Stephen Kowalski. He’s one of the best criminal defence lawyers in Central - Queen sent him. Said it was the least he could do.”

***

The light’s been turned off when he’s escorted back to his cell. As he walks down the hallway, in the light from the single row of still lit lamps, he tries his best to ignore the noises coming from the darkness of some of those cells - grunts and moans and creaking metal, “yeah, bitch, take it” and “Hey, Officer Li! Why don’t you just leave the pretty boy here with us? No need for you to walk him all the way to the other end of the block on your bad leg?”

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, his cell door locks behind him, the cuffs are removed and he’s allowed to make his way to his bunk in the light of a flashlight before the impatient guard leaves.

“Thought I was going to have the cell all to myself tonight,” Snart’s voice comes from the darkness above. “I take it they didn’t realize it was all a dreadful mistake and rushed to spring you as soon as possible.”

“No, that - not exactly.”

“Well, at least Mick won’t be upset about having gone to all this trouble for nothing. Get some sleep, Scarlet.”

“Aye, aye, Captain.”

That earns him a snort and Barry finds himself unexpectedly smiling as he curls up facing the wall.

“Oh, and Allen?”

“Yeah?”

“Tell you friends to stick to regular visiting hours from here on out. Two thirds of the cell block just got a good look at your face and they’ll all be wondering what makes you so special. Not the best way if you want to keep a low profile, if you catch my drift?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So - it appears I found a plot. We'll see how far that goes.


	3. Chapter 3

As it turns out, the reason why Sal’s name sounded familiar was because he’d actually sent flowers for his Dad’s funeral - black roses with an elegantly handwritten card expressing his most sincere condolences. The name had stuck him, because frankly, not a lot of people had bothered.

At breakfast, Snart collects his own already prepared tray and waits for Barry to make his way through the line and get a fairly generous helping of something that might be oatmeal, a juice cube and a couple of packets of sugar before stearing them in the direction of an already occupied table, asking politely is he might have a word with Mr. Rizzuto. After some meaningful glances between the seated men, two seats are vacated, and they find themselves sitting across from an Italian-American gentleman in his sixties.

Turns out Sal has quite fond memories of Henry and is quite happy to spend breakfast reminisicing about him with Barry - and when Snart broaches the subject, he’s also quite willing to have Barry as a cellmate for the foreseable future.

“You’ll have to give me until tomorrow to arrange for my current cellmate’s move,” he says and then adds, apologetically, “but you must understand, a bed is all I can offer. I do not have the influence with the other Family members in here to be in a position to offer actual protection, and certainly not to a former officer of the law. If we had been in Gotham…”

“That’s fine,” Snart says. “Me and Mick’s handling that part.”

They meet up with Rory in the yard after breakfast. He’s looking downright chipper, bouncing on his feet, not the least bit bothered by the bruises he wasn’t sporting yesterday.

“And Herr Armbruster?” Snart inquires.

“Last I heard, he was whining to the guards about how he’d managed to fall out of his bunk and break his arm.” Then he catches Barry’s wide-eyed look. “Problem?”

“No! I just - aren’t you going to get into trouble? I mean, the guards must know…”

“What the guards know and what they can prove are two very different things, Scarlet,” Snart drawls, leaning back against the chain link fence. “They don’t have the money for those fancy night-vision cameras, so after lights out, they can’t see what goes on in the cells. Unless someone squeals, they’ve got nothing…”

“And nobody likes a rat,” Mick finishes. “Kid need a hand carrying his stuff to the old guy’s cell?”

“Not until tomorrow,” Snart answers, which makes Mick aim an angry glare at Barry. Angry enough that he actually takes a step back and raises his hands.

“Uhm, don’t take this the wrong way, but how can you be so sure they’ll move you back together? Or me in with Sal, for that matter? I thought the guards were in charge of who goes in which cell?”

“Officially, yes - but in most jails, it’s one of the things they let the prisoners have a lot of say in. Keeps everybody happy.”

“And as for me and Lenny,” Rory interrupts, “Lenny’s got himself a fancy court order telling them they can’t put us in different cells unless we ask for it.”

“A court order?”

“Oh yeah,” and Rory’s grinning now, his previous anger gone just like that, “Lenny went up before a judge and talked about how keeping us apart was likely to make us break our sacred vows in all sorts of interesting ways. Judge was a bit of an old-fashioned sort, didn’t like to think of the state encouraging adultery.”

“Wait - vows? Are you telling me you’re actually married?”

“Twelve years this october. Got hitched right here in the Heights, actually, about five days after it was legal. Would have been on the day, ‘cept we had to wait for the rabbi . Lenny’s particular like that.”

“If you two ladies are quite done gossiping,” Snart interrupts, “I’m pretty sure you’re already late for your shift in the laundry.”

Which makes Rory curse strongly enough to make Barry blush and then he stomps off.

“Laundry?” Barry asks.

“Mick’s work assignment - everyone’s got one. A chance for the state to wring some productivity out of us lowlifes for a measly wage. Speaking of which, we’re going to go to the library now. Might as well draw the librarian’s attention the fact that we’ve got ourselves a college educated inmate who is used to working with computers. Give him a chance to call dibs.”

“Is that where you work?” Barry asks as he’s lead, one of Snart’s hands wrapped around his upper arm.

“No, I’m in the electronics workshop. Now move your feet.”

“What’s the rush?”

“I want this done before the guards show up looking to take you to the shrink,” Snart replies, leading him down a hallway towards a door with a sign saying “LIE RAP “.

“Wait? Shrink?”

“Standard procedure, Scarlet. The shrink evaluates everybody on their first day, checks if they’ve got any special needs, has any prescriptions she needs to fill, that sort of thing. You’ll do fine, she's nice. Mick adores her.”

“Why?” because from what Barry’s seen of Rory, it takes more than nice to earn his favour.

“Probably ‘cause she gives him lollipops every time she sees him, which, between the pyromania and the anger management issues, is about once a week. Actually, when you go, see if you can’t grab a couple of those things. Might help you bribe him into forgiving you for another night of celibacy.”


	4. Chapter 4

When the guards bring him back to the cell Snart is lying on the top bunk, turning a page in his book.

“You missed dinner, Scarlet. Shrink think you’re that screwed up?”

“No. No, Doctor Kuzima was nice, just like you said,” and she had been. Which didn’t mean that he’d been stupid enough to actually trust her enough to tell her anything. He’d made that mistake with the grief counselors and psychiatrists when he was eleven, and he’d learned that particular lesson quite well, thank you very much.

“It was my lawyer who kept me late. But at least he brought sandwiches?”

“And what did your lawyer have to say? Expecting your full acquittal any day now?”

Barry sighs and collapses down on his bunk.

“He thinks I’ve got a really good case - as long as I plead guilty and aim for a temporary insanity defence. He thinks I might even be out on parole in just 10 years with good behaviour, if they take my traumatized childhood into consideration.”

He closes his eyes, groaning as he remembers the lawyer, all sharp suit and professionalism and not getting a single one of the hints that Barry had given him, trying to figure out if he knew. After all, it would have been really helpful if the lawyer Oliver Queen had sent him had been aware of the entire superhero thing. You’d think Oliver would have had that in mind when he hired the guy, but apparently not…

Snart makes a commiserating noise above him.

“At least he saved you from the tuesday meatloaf.”

Barry laughs at that. It’s not that funny, even spoken in Snart’s deadpan drawl, but still. He’ll take what he can get these days.

***

The next day after breakfast Snart and Rory escort Barry and his meager belongings - a small bag of commisary toiletries, mostly - to the cell his Dad used to share with Sal.

And so starts what Barry soon begins to think of as his daily prison routine.

In the mornings he’ll wait in his cell for either Snart or Rory to come and collect him for breakfast. That first day it’s Rory, dopy grin on his face as if all is right with the world despite all of them being behind bars, slapping Barry companionably on the shoulder hard enough to nearly make him stumble.

For the rest of the day, the only times they let him out of their sight are when he closes the door to the toilet stall or when the guards collect him because he has a visitor (he has a few - his lawyer, still trying to get him to properly tell “the real story”, the cops and prosecutor working his case (and driving in from Keystone every day to avoid all possible conflicts of interest - and grumpy about it) basically doing the same, except his lawyer keeps telling him not to answer when it's them asking, and occasionally Joe, telling him not to worry, they’ve got some good leads, they’ll find the meta soon and all will be well).

Apart from that, they stick to him.

They’re with him in the communal showers - where he learns that Mick Rory’s scars cover places he had never considered and that Snart has a truly amazing number of tattoos.

(”Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” Rory grumbles when he notices Barry gawking. 

“Sorry, I’m sorry, just,” and Barry’s blushing, averting his eyes (and then averting his eyes right back again, because he accidentally averted them all the way over to the big black naked man smirking at him under one of the opposite showerheads). “What are the zigzag marks for?”

“Can’t you guess?” and now it’s Snart that’s smirking at him - seriously, does the prison offer some sort of class in smirking he’s not aware of? And if so, where can he sign up? “They’re flashes of lightning, Allen. One for each of my encounters with the local superhero.”

“Wait - seriously?”

Rory laughs at him.)

They’re with him in the yard, trudging around come rain or shine. They’re with him in the gym, where Rory seems to have taken Barry’s state of speed-less fitness as some sort of personal insult and is forcing him to lift weights and practice the moves Eddie taught him on a pretty worn-looking punching bag.

At least one of them’ll stay with him when it’s time for work assignments - at least Rory’s and Snart’s don’t overlap. Well, almost don’t, meaning that for about twenty minutes Barry will have to sit in a chair by the door of the electronics workshop where Snart can keep an eye on him inbetween glowering at ugly, broken lamps. Then Rory will come and walk him to his own work assignment in the library.

(”Why aren’t your work assignments at the same time?” Barry asks on the second day. “I mean, I can see how it’s convenient right now, but I’d have thought you’d want to stay together as much as possible.”

“Kid, when we’re inside, we spend almost every single hour of the day together. Hitched or not, it’s nice to get a little space to yourself - and besides, work assignments aren’t exactly known for taking up a lot of time…”)

The librarian had snapped him up, just as Snart had predicted. Barry’s got the job of typing the occasional request for an interlibrary loan into a computer only slightly older than the ones back at the precinct, while a guard looks over his shoulder to make sure he doesn’t use the internet access for anything else. Apart from that, he’s expected to shelve books (while politely ignoring both the fact that apparently the most popular books in prison based on what needs to be reshelved most often are either Fifty Shades of Grey or the Gor novels - so far, it looks like a tie - and that the inmates are using the library shelves to hide all sorts of worrying things behind the worn paperbacks) and prepare the book cart that Chavez, the senior inmate working at the library, will then walk through the prison with..

It’s hardly the most challenging of jobs, but he’s pretty sure it beats laundry. While he works, Rory will lounge in the library’s ratty sofa reading automotive repair manuals and taking up the entirety of it until Snart shows up and drapes himself in more or less odd positions next to him.

Honestly, it’s a little embarrassing to be escorted everywhere (and not just because the rest of the inmates seem to have made up their collective minds as to exactly what the pair of them are getting out of it), but it’s also strangely comforting, and anyway, he’s noticed at least a couple of other, fairly young inmates who seem to come with similar escorts, so he’s not going to be too embarrassed about it.

They’re with him at breakfast, lunch and dinner, they’re with him when Sal’s trying to teach him chess and they’re with him when the guards come to collect him, because he has a visitor.

Who turns out to be Cisco.

“Man, I am so glad to see you,” he enthuses. “Are they treating you okay? They are, right? It’s not, you know, as horrible as in the movies, right?”

“I’m fine, Cisco,” he assures him. “The movies exaggerate. You know that.”

“That’s good. Uhm - Joe said you’re sharing a cell with Captain Cold?”

“I was. For the first couple of nights. Then I got moved in with my Dad’s old cell mate. It’s fine, Cisco. But tell me - have you figured out a way to get my - my sneakers back?”

“Your…? Oh right. Those. Yes. That is, no. I mean, we’re working on it, but we still haven’t had a chance to study the meta and honestly? It’d be really helpful if Caitlin could get a chance to examine you - we’ve been trying to get her permission to get in here to look at you, but the judge isn’t budging, so she sent me with some questions,” and he drags a small mountain of paper and a pen out. “First, have you had any fainting spells or other symptoms of hypoglycemia since the event?”

They don’t even make it through half the questions before the visiting time is over.

***

“Why so glum?” Rory asks from where he’s spotting for Snart. Barry looks up from where he’s been contemplating one of the small hand weights he’s supposed to be lifting.

“Nothing. It’s just - Caitlin and Cisco don’t seem to be making any progress on fixing me, and they kinda need to actually be able to examine me, except, well, I’m in here. And apparently they’re not allowed in.”

“Not like your doctor lady would be able to do all that much in the infirmary anyway,” Rory comments. “Anything worse than a dental appointment or a basic stab wound gets transferred to the secured wing at the county hospital. I’m not even sure they’ve got an X-ray machine that actually works.”

Snart finishes his lifts, letting the bar fall back into its holder, and sits up, accepting a towel from Rory to wipe away the sweat before getting up and letting the next people waiting to use the weights and the bench claim it.

“Exactly what does Ramon and Snow need?” he asks as they leave the gym heading for the showers.

“Well, last time it happened, Caitlin did all sorts of tests - blood tests, monitoring my heart, EEGs, had me on the treadmill for hours.”

“Last time?” and Rory’s tone makes Barry blush. “Didn’t think powers were like a pair of car keys. Lose them a lot, do you?”

Snart hums in thought and pushes his boxers down, not even bothering to reach for the surprisingly fluffy towel to wrap around himself.

“I doubt we can find a way to get the good doctor inside. But if it’ll help, I’m sure we can get the prison doctor to give you a thorough check-up, draw some blood, that sort of thing.”

“And what - smuggle it out?”

“As for that, I think I might have an idea,” Snart says and turns on his shower.


	5. Chapter 5

He doesn’t know how Snart manages to arrange it, but less than a week after Cisco’s visit Barry finds himself in the infirmary, getting the prison doctor’s best attempt at a full work-up under Snart’s watchful gaze.

As they leave, Snart’s fingers wrapped around Barry’s upper arm, Barry glances back at the frankly worrisome amount of tubes that’s just been filled with his blood and manages to see Snart and the doctor exchange a meaningful nod.

He decides that he really doesn’t want to know.

Three days later, Cisco visits again.

“Lisa said to say hi,” he tells Snart as he sinks down next to him on the bench in the prison yard. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the other man’s lips curl into a fond, little smirk - there for but a moment, blink and you’ll miss it.

“I take it the plan worked, then?”

“Yeah. It’s not everything they’d have liked, but at least now they’ve got something to start with, right?”

Snart hums as if in agreement with Barry’s forced optimism, watching Rory standing between a pair of improvised goal posts and roaring at a surprisingly mixed group of inmates, challenging them to try to get a ball past him. The sun is beating down and most of the players - including Rory - have taken their shirts off.

There’s something hypnotic about watching a half-naked Rory, drops of sweat making his muscles practically glitter in the bright sunlight - or maybe it’s just the sun beating down on Barry.

“Making yourself comfortable?” Snart drawls and the solid thing under Barry’s head moves in a shrug, making him open his eyes wide and jerk back, practically falling off the bench.

“Sorry! I didn’t mean,” but Snart just rolls his eyes and drags him back up on the bench.

“You shouldn’t be falling asleep in the yard, Allen. It’s not safe - and it’s not like you don’t spend enough time in your cell to catch up on your beauty sleep.”

“I know that,” and Barry’s blushing, because he does know that, Snart told him the very first day they spent in the yard that it wasn’t a place to let his guard down, it’s just. “The sun’s giving me a headache. I should probably eat something.”

“Cafeteria’s closed this time a day.”

“Yeah, but the commisary’s candy bar machine isn’t.”

Snart makes a disgusted sort of noise - not that Barry blames him, those alleged candy bars taste worse than the calorie bars Cisco and Caitlin make for him when his speedster metabolism is up and running, but he really does need something right now - and gets to his feet.

Barry waves at Rory as they leave and succeeds in distracting him at precisely the wrong moment - the ball flies past him and a string of invectives follow Barry and Snart inside. Oops.

***

If there’s one thing that Barry misses above all else in prison, it’s hugs.

Oh, there’s touch. Snart and Rory are as likely to manhandle him as they are to just tell him if they want him to, say, sit down at a specific table in the cafeteria or if it’s time to go with Snart to the workshop. In fact, once the two of them have spent a few days getting used to his company, they prove to be surprisingly tactile - slaps on the shoulder, a hand ruffling his hair, leaning against him as surely as they will one another.

The first time Snart decides to twist in his chair in front of the communal tv and drape his legs just behind Barry’s shoulders he almost jumps to his feet in surprise, distracted from the news report just starting - something about a new Central City speedster…

“Isn’t that uncomfortable?” he asks after a moment. Snart just shrugs and after another moment, Barry cautiously leans his head back, letting it rest against Snart’s shin. It’s surprisingly comfortable.

But he still misses hugs.

It hits him every time he sits in the visitor’s room, a pane of bullet-proof glass between him and a friend.

“Don’t worry, Bear,” Joe tells him, aiming for reassuring. “We’ve got a positive lead on your meta now, and we’ve asked Oliver for help. If all goes well, we’ll soon have you out of here.”

But the days pass and he’s still in Iron Heights, waking up in the middle of the night and lying in the darkness, listening to Sal’s snoring for what feels like hours.

“How are things going with my sneakers?” he asks a distracted looking Cisco.

“It’s - okay, so Caitlin’s been running a bunch of tests on what she’s got, and we’re pretty sure it’s not the same as with - uhm, during the blackout. We’re working on it. When we can.”

“When you can? Cisco!”

“Well, you know how it is. Running business before pleasure.”

Barry’s pretty sure Snart would be distinctly unimpressed if he was present to hear his and Cisco’s attempts at being circumspect.

“Cisco - I am the running business, remember?”

For a moment, Cisco looks at him, blinking slowly and raising a hand to rub at his eyes - then his eyes widen almost comically.

“I’m sorry, Barry. I don’t know what I was thinking there. Anyway, we’re working on it, I promise you!”

The next time Joe visits Barry asks him if Cisco’s coming down with something.

“He seemed - kinda off the last time he came by, you know?”

“Don’t worry about it, Barry. You need to focus on your case - your trial is in just a couple of weeks and your lawyer tells me you still aren’t cooperating with him.”

Barry blinks in surprise.

“I told you, Oliver hired a guy who doesn’t… you know? If you guys could just track down the meta, you could prove I was set up!”

“Barry, you need to focus on your case or you’ll end up like your father! Just leave the metas to the professionals, okay!”

He spends the rest of that day distracted, even accidentally walking into the human brick wall that’s Mick Rory more than once.

“Something wrong, Red?” Snart asks, kneeling down next to where he’s managed to end up on the floor after the third time, tilting his head. “You seem off your game.”

“I just - I dunno. It’s nothing.”

Snart doesn’t look convinced, but helps him back on his feet anyway - for a given value of helping that Barry’s pretty sure is going to leave him with a handprint bruise on his upper arm.

“Well, stop walking into Mick, or some guard will see it and think you’re brawling. Officer Carmichael’s on duty and that asshole likes to use his taser to break up yard fights.”

A few days later he’s leaning forward in his seat, squinting at the small tv screen, trying to make out the red-clad speedster who has apparently just had a team-up with the Green Arrow and Firestorm, when a guard comes to take him to the visitor’s room.

He hasn’t seen Iris since before the murder.

They’ve talked on the phone a few times, but Joe’s been opposed to her visiting. “She shouldn’t see you like this, Bear,” and Joe can be very persuasive.

Yet here she is, and all he wants to do is laugh and hug her. Have her smile at him, just once.

She doesn’t.

“I don’t understand, Barry - how could you?”

“I’m sorry?”

“After everything Dad did for you? Took you in, raised you, helped you get a shot at a CSI job when other college grads have to work as baristas - and this is how you repay him?”

“Iris? You’re not making any sense - you know I didn’t do it, right? I’d never do something like that! It was a meta…” but the woman in front of him is looking at him as if they are strangers, as if they haven’t known each other forever and a day.

As if she isn’t Iris and he isn’t Barry.

“I don’t know why I came here,” she says and there are tears in her eyes. “Maybe I just needed to see it for myself to actually believe it. I should have listened to the Flash. She said that I shouldn’t blame myself - your father went to jail for murder and it’s not my fault that his son is following in his footsteps.”

By the time he manages to stop gaping at her and go “wait, what?” she has already hung up the phone and gotten to her feet, all but running from the room.

He stares after her until the guard has to literally drag him out of his seat


	6. Chapter 6

Barry’s focused on losing spectacularly in the game of poker he talked Sal and Snart into instead of another round of getting his ass kicked at chess, which is why he doesn’t notice the vaguely familiar looking man before he’s leaning across the table, planting his hands in the small pot of stamps they’ve been playing for and making them fly every which way.

“I know who you are!”

“What? I don’t - what are you talking about?” and it’s only because of Rory resting a solid hand on his shoulder that Barry doesn’t bolt then and there.

“Think I wouldn’t recognize you?” the man spits. “Think I’d forget your smug little face, prattling about DNA in your fancy suit and getting an honest man locked up like that? Tell me, what would your friends here think if they knew that you’re just a fucking badge?”

“I’d think you’d need to leave, friend,” Snart drawls, not even looking up from his cards, “before I take offense at you ruining the round.”

“Oh! Oh, so that’s how it is! Got yourself a sugar daddy, do ya, badge?” the man - Benton? Barry’s pretty sure his name is Benton - snarls. “Well, just you wait…”

“Fucking amateur,” Rory growls and sits himself down next to Barry, reaching for the cards that he’s dropped. “What’s he in for anyway, Red? Murder or something?”

“I - no,” Barry shakes his head and tries to get his cards back, except Mick has longer arms than he does. “He held up a jewelry shop that had just had that new DNA spray stuff installed.”

“Like I said - amateur. ‘Sides, only an amateur’d go after the arresting officer. Everybody knows that.”

“Yes,” Sal comments, pushing the reassembled pile of stamps into the middle of the table. “Sadly, jail is full of amateurs.”

“And idiots,” Snart adds. “Any half-decent lawyer would be salivating at the thought of a re-trial right about now. He should be giving you a gift basket of those crappy candy bars you’re always eating, not come looking to start a fight.”

***

Barry mostly forgets about Benton. Partly because Snart and Rory appear so certain that he won’t be a problem, but mostly because he’s got so much else on his mind.

His lawyer visits nearly every day - not long visits, but still. Gives him updates on the case, sits by his side while the Keystone cops have him tell his story one more time, that sort of thing.

And when he’s not having meetings with his lawyer or trying in vain to make somebody - Cisco, Caitlin, anybody - answer their phone until the guy in line behind him gets impatient, he’s looking for information about the new Flash. Not that there’s much to get and certainly not in here - just brief stories on the tv and a couple of articles in the Central City Picture News that they get at the library.

He feels useless, really.

It’s like the only thing he’s good for is shelving books in the prison library these days.

A guard walks in and heads straight for where Rory’s pretending not to have noticed her already, nose buried in some “How to take care your pet rat” book.

“Rory! Get up! You’re supposed to be at the shrink’s right now, not lazying around in the library!”

“My appointment with Doc Kuzima ain’t till tomorrow,” Rory protests, but he’s getting to his feet and frowning in Barry’s direction before apparently deciding not to be stubborn about it, letting the guard lead him out.

Well, it’s not like Barry really needs a bodyguard in the library, is it? The only other person there right now is Chavez and it’s not like the book cart Barry’s been organizing is much of a threat, is it?

“I’ll need you to take the cart out today,” Chavez grumbles. “My fucking ankle’s acting up again.”

“Sure,” Barry nods, because that’s nothing new. He’s done that a couple of times already. It’s actually quite nice, getting to stretch his legs and see something other than the usual parts of gen pop. “I’ll go as soon as Snart shows up.”

“No, you go now,” Chavez grumbles. “It’ll take you at least 45 minutes to walk the round and I want to have this place locked up early today, so I can get a good seat for tonight’s game.”

So Barry takes the cart and goes. He’s sure Snart’s just five minutes away anyway, and he can catch up if he really wants to. At least Rory seemed to think that Barry could handle himself for half an hour. Really, there are guards everywhere - what’s the worst that could happen?

A guard escorts him to the meta wing (Grisham novel for Mardon, Gaiman novel for Fells, some Russian fantasy novel for Monteleone), death row and the secured wing before leaving him in the infirmary as usual. He’d really expected Snart to be waiting for him there with a glower, the way he usually did when the guard left Barry. Well, usually he looked more bored than anything, but given the circumstances, Barry was definitely expecting a glower. Snart's nothing if not dramatic, after all.

But there's no Snart waiting for him.

He starts making his way back towards the library when he sees Sal walking down the hall towards him - and he’s just about to open his mouth and say hello when Sal abruptly stops, looks at him for a moment, then shakes his head and turns around. The older man practically bolts, leaving Barry standing open mouthed like an idiot.

He’s still standing like that when a hand wraps itself around half his face and he’s yanked sideways into what he thought was some sort of supply closet and not an access door to some sort of maintenance tunnel that he’s pretty sure the inmates shouldn’t have access to, his surprised cry muffled and his flailing limbs restrained by far too many hands.

“Thought I’d forgotten about you, badge?” Benton snarls, leaning close and squashing Barry against whichever small mountain of a man is holding him and not even making the slightest noise despite Barry trying his level best to bite his hand.

“Thought your scary supervillain boyfriends were gonna keep you safe, badge? Looks like they don’t care about you anymore. Me and my new friends, on the other hand? We care. In fact, we care so much that we’re willing to help you forget about them.”

“It’s a chore,” one of the other three? four? men laughs, “but I’m sure we’ll all rise to the occasion.”

The rest of them laugh and it sounds all wrong.

And then there’s the sound of a zipper getting unzipped.

No!

No! No! No!

Barry tries to twist out of the hands holding him, tries to bite, to scream, but it's useless. He kicks and kicks and at least has the satisfaction of hitting somebody, even if all that earns him is a muffled groan and hands getting a better grip on his legs.

And then there are hands yanking down his pants, somebody leaning far too close and licking the side of his face while somebody else is shoving a hand down the back of his boxers…

… and then somebody appears seemingly out of nowhere, slamming his shoulder into Benton and dragging him off of Barry.

“Get off of him!” Len snarls, barely hesitating long enough to kick Benton’s legs out from under him before turning back and aiming a punch at another of Barry’s captors. Barry tries his best to take advantage of the distraction, kicking as best he can with his pants down around his ankles and twisting until he gets an arm free, clawing at the hand covering his face until it finally, finally moves just a tiny little bit.

“HELP! Somebody! Help!”

The next few moments are a confusion of curses and fists and Barry getting shoved head first into the metal pipes that line the side of the tunnel and collapsing, his ears ringing.

He can hear the sound of running feet, but he can’t quite tell where it’s coming from - and then he tries to climb to his feet, blinking blood out of his eyes, and there’s Len, wrestling two of Barry’s attackers - except suddenly Len stops, yowls and starts collapsing.

“Len!” Barry cries, scrambling to his feet and leaping at the inmate that has already pulled his leg back, getting ready to aim a good kick at Len’s defenseless head.

He never even sees the guard that tasers him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time no see. Let's hope I can post the next few chapters a little faster than this one.


	7. Chapter 7

“I thought I’d told you to keep your head down and focus on your case.”

Joe sounds tired.

Barry opens his eyes and turns his head to look at the man who has been a father to him in all but name, sitting on a worn office chair that somebody’s considerately put in the room.

He really wants to get up and hug Joe, but seeing as how he’s handcuffed to the bed, that’s not going to happen.

“I’m sorry, Joe. I tried.”

“Yeah, that’s what you always say;” Joe grumbles, rubbing his forehead. “Just like your father. Really, Bear - I don’t know what to do about you anymore. I thought you’d at least try to keep out of trouble, but this? Do you realize that the only reason that you’re not nursing that concussion of yours in Solitary is as a personal favour to me from the warden?”

“But, Joe - they _attacked_ me! I didn’t…”

“Quiet! Damnit, Bear - can’t you be honest with me for just once in your life? Nevermind. Clearly I’ve been going about this the wrong way. Perhaps it’s about time I started doing as the Flash has been suggesting.”

“But, Joe,” and Barry can keep the rising desperation in his voice down, even as he glances at the door to make sure it’s securely closed, “I am the Flash! You know that! What do you mean, as the Flash has been suggesting? Who are you talking about?”

Joe just stands, sighing again.

“What I know is that you haven’t changed at all since you were a teen, running away for days and babbling about supernatural events - and I still don’t know if you’re delusional or just lying to me. You? The Flash? Don’t be ridiculous, Barry, of course you’re not her.”

“Her?” and perhaps if he had been able to think straight, be calm and cool like Len for just five minutes, he’d have been able to get some actual answers out of Joe. But he isn’t. “Joe, you _know_ that I’m the Flash! You’ve known since I woke up from the coma with speedster powers. Joe, please!”

“Bear, are you even listening to yourself? Do you realize how crazy you sound? Speedster powers? Do you really think the Flash would ever be caught dead handcuffed to a bed in Iron Height’s infirmary? Barry, she can run through walls!”

“Damnit, Joe, listen to me! There was a meta! She’s the one who killed that man! And she stole my powers! Listen, Joe, I think…”

“Quiet!” and it’s not a bellow, but it might as well have been. “I’m not going to listen to any more of this. I’m not going to let you make a fool out of me and out of yourself anymore, Barry.”

Joe stalks toward the door, pausing with his hand on the handle and his back to Barry.

“This is what I’m going to do: I’m going to have a chat with the warden, call in one last favour for you and make sure those men you were caught brawling with in a forbidden area won’t cause you anymore trouble. And that’s it, Barry. That’s the last favour I’ll do for you. Are we clear?”

“Yes, Joe,” and Barry suddenly feels incredibly small. “But please…”

“Goodbye, Barry,” says Joe firmly, walks out and lets the door fall closed behind him.

***

The next two weeks Barry spends mostly handcuffed to his bed in the small private room next to the main infirmary. Apparently having a concussion means that he needs rest and quiet - things he’d be unlikely to get if stuck in a bed between a grumpy serial rapist with a broken knee and a burglar recovering from an appendectomy with a bad habit of bursting into very off-key hiphop songs.

Mind you, the walls are thin enough that he still has the dubious pleasure of the latter.

The two weeks feel like forever.

The first couple of days he mostly naps, and afterwards the nurse gets him a couple of books along with strict admonitions not to read more than twenty minutes at a time. But mostly? Mostly he’s alone with his thoughts.

The first week he gets a grand total of two visitors - Stephen Kowalski, telling him that his trial has been postponed a few weeks, because apparently the DA didn’t want the jury feeling sorry for an obviously battered Barry and therefore hadn’t objected - and Sal.

Well, technically Sal isn’t a visitor, as he appears with a mop in his hands and immediately starts mopping the floor when he’s let into Barry’s room by a somewhat distracted guard.

“I’m sorry,” Sal whispers, not even lifting his head to look at Barry.

“You - you knew?” and it’s a struggle to keep his voice down, to not shout with the betrayal of it. He’d thought of Sal as a friend.

“Benton paid the Family men for the key to that door.”

“Why didn’t you say something? You could have warned me!”

“Barry - I don’t actually have that much standing with the local Families. I told you from the start: all I could offer was a bed. If I’d tried to warn you, it would have been me stuck in a bed in the infirmary and that’s assuming I was lucky.”

Sal glances towards the door to check that the guard isn’t watching, then stops mopping and straigtens.

“Your father was my friend, Barry, and I am sorry that I was not able to do better by his son. I fully understand if you’d rather have a different cellie when the doctor lets you out of here.”

Barry turns away, not trusting himself to speak and not wanting the other convict to see the tears pricking at the corners of his eyes.

Behind him Sal sighs.

“I’ll see to that, then.”

***

Two weeks of his own company leaves Barry far too much time to think - think about the meta who has somehow - impossibly (though who is he to talk of impossible things?) - stolen his life. He needs to talk to somebody about it - and he finds himself quietly hoping that Len’s okay, that he’ll talk his way onto the cleaning crew for a bit the same way Sal must have. He desperately needs somebody’s advice and if nothing else, Len’s got a better track record when it comes to fighting speedsters than Barry does.

But the only visitor he gets after Sal is the inmate from the women’s wing who works as Iron Height’s yoga teacher, who is brought in at the start of the second week to show him a couple of easy exercises. After that, he gets uncuffed a couple of times a day to stretch his limbs, because apparently mild exercise is good for a concussion.

On the sixteenth day after his assault the doctor declares Barry well enough to go back to gen pop, as long as he makes sure not to strain himself.

The guards escort him back in the evening, after the cells have been locked for the night. They walk him past his old cell and he manages to catch a brief glimpse of a vaguely familiar-looking man lying on his usual bunk just as the lights in the cells are turned off. Eventually, they stop at the cell he briefly shared with Len, let him in and walk away without bothering to light his way with a flashlight this time.

Barry breathes a sigh of relief. He’d worried that they’d put him with somebody like Armbruster, but obviously Len is still pulling strings.

“Len?”

“Guess again, Red,” a gravelly voice slurs from the darkness.

“Rory?" Barry frowns, the shadow of the man sitting on the lower bunk becoming clearer as his eyes adjust to the darkness. “Where’s Len?”

“Oh, so it’s Len now, is it?” Rory snorts and takes a drink out of a plastic bottle. “Lenny ain’t here right now, Red. Guess you’ll have to settle for me.”

“Where is he?” and suddenly Barry’s worried, memories of a raised foot and a vulnerable head vividly clear in his mind.

“They put him on ice for saving your skinny ass.”

“Oh,” and Barry slumps with relief. “I thought - but it’s been two weeks? Shouldn’t they have let him out by now?” he asks, trying to remember what he knows about the rules governing solitary confinement.

“Usually brawling earns you a week,” Rory answers. “But nobody’s seen hide or hair of Lenny or your wannabe boyfriends since that day.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Barry offers, still standing by the cell door. Really, he should be climbing up in his bunk, but - there’s something off in Rory’s voice that’s making him worried. He sees the man take another sip from his bottle.

“Rory - are you drunk?” he asks, carefully.

“So what if I am? ‘S’not like Lenny’s here to bitch about it, now is it?”

“I’m sorry, but - maybe if Len wouldn’t want you to, maybe you should…”

“Maybe you shouldn’t stand there and talk about my fucking husband like that,” Rory growls. “Just ‘cause he’s been treating you like a pet, doesn’t mean you get a say, got that?”

“I’m sorry,” Barry backtracks. “I just thought…”

“Wanna know what I think, Red? I think we’re gonna have ourselves some changes around here.”

“Changes?”

Rory drains his bottle and throws it in Barry’s direction. It smells of booze. Then he stands.

“If you’re still going to want protection, I think it’s time you started paying the going rate, like every other fucking twink who gets thrown in here. On your knees.”

Barry takes a step back. The cell wall feels cold through the thin prison-issue shirt.

“Mick, I’ve got a deal with Len. I’ll owe him a favour for all of this when I get out of here. You can’t just…”

“Well, Lenny isn’t here right now, and whose fault is that? ‘Sides, I’ve heard about those favours of yours - how last time one of those markers got called in, he ended up stuck in here until that Mardon fellow broke him out. Seems to me like Lenny’ll do just fine without you owing him any more of that sort of favours.”

And Rory takes a step forward, covering half the distance between them.

“Don’t! I - I’ll call the guards in you touch me!”

Rory snorts - “No, you won’t,” - but he does take a step back and sits back down on his bunk.

“Wanna know what you’re going to do, Red? You’re gonna strip and then you’re gonna come over here and we’ll have ourselves a good time.”

He pats the bunk next to him.

“And if I don’t?” Barry asks, squinting into the semi-darkness. He really wishes he could see Rory’s face properly. “Are you just going to come over here and force me?”

Rory snorts again.

“Don’t be stupid. You don’t pay, tomorrow, I’m gonna walk up to some big asshole during yard time and have myself put on ice right next to Lenny. You’ll have yourself another cellie by tomorrow night, and then we’ll see if you’ve got anything more than a favour to offer him.”

Barry swallows, his mouth dry.

He finds himself thinking about running - running far away, across fields and roads and water. Running away from Iron Heights, from Central City. From metas killing people and stealing his life and his friends and family.

Far away from this cell, where the tiny bit of safety he thought he still had has just been taken away from him.

Except he can’t. He’s the fastest man alive and there’s nowhere to run.

He’s surprised to realize that the choked sounds he hears is his own bitter laugh.

Then he starts unbuttoning his shirt.

“You know what? You’re right! What am I good for anymore? I can’t solve crimes anymore. Can’t help people. Can’t _run_. What the hell am I good for? There’s some meta out there, stealing _everything_ from me, my friends, my family, and I’m stuck in here and I can’t do anything about it. Nothing. What use am I if I can’t even help myself?!

The anger feels good. It drowns out the chill of the cell, drowns the fear of what’s about to happen.

He hurls his balled up shirt at Rory and it hits him right in the face. It feels satisfying, even though he’ll probably be paying for it in a minute.

“So you’re right. Maybe this is all I’m good for now. Maybe this is all I have to offer,” and he shoves his pants down, angrily, because he can’t slow down now, can’t stop running. If he stops, he’ll be the one drowning.

“Stop!”

Barry freezes and looks at Rory.

The other man leans forward, burying his face in one hand, Rubbing it against his eyes. The other hand he holds out, Barry’s wrinkled shirt dangling from it.

“Just - just put your clothes back on and get in your fucking bunk. Forget this shit. I’m just drunk, that’s all.”

Barry blinks, then pulls his pants back up. He reaches out for his shirt, prepared to try to jump back if Rory changes his mind again, but the other man just lets go of the shirt and shuffles to the side, making space for Barry to climb into the top bunk without having to touch him.

Barry pulls the shirt back on, buttoning it hurriedly, and is just about to hazard the climb - when something makes him hesitate.

“Mick?”

“I said: get in your bunk, Red. I’m not gonna touch you. I don’t do that shit, I just - I get angry without Lenny around. I just wanted to scare you a bit. I wasn’t going to touch you.”

But Mick pulls his hands away from his face and looks up at Barry - and maybe it’s a trick of the light (or rather, the lack of same), but the ridiculous thing is, that Mick looks exactly as lost as Barry feels right now.

Maybe that’s why he hears his own voice saying “Can I sleep in your bunk tonight?”

Mick looks at him like he’s crazy, and honestly? Barry’s not entirely sure that he’s not.

“I just said you don’t have to do that, kid. Lenny’d throw a fit when he came back.”

“I didn’t mean that, just - just to sleep,” and he finds himself wrapping his arms around himself, rubbing them and shivering.

Mick frowns at him, then sighs and shakes his head, not even looking at Barry - but he’s lying down on his bunk, shuffling as far back towards the wall as he the narrow bunk will let him.

Perhaps it’s not exactly permission, but it’s enough - and Barry finds himself sitting down and then stretching out next to Mick before he has time to second-guess himself.

Mick’s a broad man and prison bunks aren’t exactly known for being spacious. Barry has time to worry that he’ll fall off before Mick’s arm wraps itself around him and hauls him close, until they’re lying chest to chest in the narrow space.

It feels - oddly safe.

Barry finds himself wondering how many nights Mick and Len must have lain like this, wrapped close like this, as he listens to Mick’s breathing even out and the other man start to snore.

He supposes he should feel a little guilty for stealing Len’s spot like this, but it’s just for tonight. He’ll just steal a little human warmth until Len comes back. Len’ll know what to do, he hopes.

Just a couple more days, he thinks as he drifts asleep, just a couple more days and Len’ll be back. He must be.

But he isn’t.


End file.
